


Bard In The Bathhouse

by sadwriterhoe



Series: Bard In The Bathhouse // Geraskier and Others [1]
Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Author Knows Nothing, Bath Sex, Geraskier, M/M, and there was only one bed ouuu, author admittedly knows jackshit about witcherverse magic, but its just because hes a cranky ass, canon divergence use of magic? powers?, geralt is adverse to touch, geralt literally just lights a candle, geraskier smut, jaskier is sad because his best friend is a constipated asshole, no beta we die like stubborn blond bastards, this is self indulgent i want mr cavill to rail me, this is smut, wow i guess he (geralt) really does like men that much
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-27
Updated: 2020-12-27
Packaged: 2021-03-10 16:34:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28350240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sadwriterhoe/pseuds/sadwriterhoe
Summary: tension plus bath plus tired cranky witcher equals a certain bard getting dicked down // i'm sorry i just genunaliy have no idea how to describe this. they fuck and jask is In Love but we'll talk about that later
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Bard In The Bathhouse // Geraskier and Others [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2076189
Kudos: 107





	Bard In The Bathhouse

Geralt hated sharing a bed with Jaskier. Not that he's  _ said _ so, but Jaskier isn't an idiot. He notices how the witcher's jaw grinds with hidden frustrations when an innkeep tells him they've only singles left. The bard tries- really, very hard- to not take each muffled reaction by his companion to heart. But it's a task that grows more difficult with time. Jaskier thought, vainly, now he'd accepted, that the witcher might soften marginally to jovial physical contact over the years, but he still tightened like new leather when the bard touched him unexpectedly. 

Sure, there was no  _ lack _ of physical contact between them. On the contrary, Geralt probably smacked, shoved, pushed, prodded or otherwise berated the bard more often than he spoke to the man. But every time Jaskier tried to sling an arm around Geralt outside the witchers mandated sparring lessons he'd instilled as a condition of Jaskier’s traveling with him, Jaskier found himself leaning into the air. The witcher almost always neatly ducked the bard attempts at comradic gestures. 

Jaskier had grown accustomed to it after a while, but sometimes it still pricked. 

One such instance was at a dingy hole of an inn at the edge of a bedraggled township. With their incredible luck, they'd managed to arrive just in time for a winter holiday and the inn was packed with overflow of travelers for the nearest cities celebrations. 

It was a biting night, miserable slush gluing itself to their boots, the puddles difficult to avoid in the pitch of dark. Jaskier was cold from his toes to his eyelashes and devoid of patience. 

"Goddamnit, Geralt, can't you fix that horse up any faster," Jaskier grumbled, wedging his hands in his armpits to starve off some of the cold not fended off by his flimsy gloves. Geralt made no reply, hands running over Roach with just as much efficiency as before. A petulant whine slipped out of Jaskier before he could clamp it down. Before shame could warm his body over  _ whining _ like a child to the witcher, the heel of Geralt's hand was on Jaskiers collar. The shove was more of a shock than a blow, but Jaskier bumped backwards into a beam of the barn they were in. By the time the bard had straightened himself, shame chased by indignance, the witcher had returned to his horse. The bard bit his tongue and slouched silently against the beam until the witcher finished untacking Roach. When he finally turned back to Jaskier, his hot-coal eyes boiled with a stew of distaste the bard had never seen. For a moment Jaskier braced himself for the witcher to whack him upside his for his immaturity, but Geralt only turned away and stalked out of the barn, up to the inn with the bard at his heels. 

Jaskier basked in the considerable warmth of the common room as they entered. Geralt made immediately to the innkeep at his till. 

"Two beds," he was saying gruffly to the stout bearded man behind the counter. The man's kindly expression slipped into an ill concealed worry at the witchers words. 

"Oh dear," he managed. "I am very sorry Witcherm sir. We've only a small single room remaining." He seemed truly regretful, but Geralt's shoulders tightened under his cloak. Jaskiers hand flicked out to press a reassuring tap to the witcher's arm, but he caught himself just in time. 

"That's fine," he assured the innkeeper, who visibly relaxed when Geralt's annoyance melted considerably at Jaskiers intervention. After gathering their key and hastily dropping some coins on the counter, Jaskier hauled upstairs. Geralt, who's leather sleeve he'd grabbed, shook him off like a kitten. 

Jaskiers overpowering desire to simply fall into the tangible comfort of a bed was shattered when he shoved the door open. The room was miniscule, about as wide as a Geralt and a half with his arms outstretched and maybe two Jaskiers’ arm lengths long. A bed hardly bigger than Geralts’ shoulders in that studded jacket was tucked into one corner, and a dangerously weak looking table and chair occupied the opposite wall. 

"Fuck." Jaskier sighed sadly in agreement with the witcher, who huffed back and elbowed him aside into the room. Geralt heaved his bag onto the frail table, plopping himself down onto the chair with such a force Jaskier expected a crack to follow. When the witcher remained on the miraculously intact chair, occupied with disagreeing with his boot laces, Jaskier had no choice but to take refuge in the bed. 

The mattress was distorted with wear and definitely not the cleanest, but it was soft and welcoming compared to the bite of the weather that beat at the singular, small window at the foot of the bed. It provided no light and Jaskier fumbled for his matches. Before he could step to the candle, a small flame burst to life. Surprised, the bard turned to the witcher, who, having caught his companions glace, grunted. However, the grunt held less malice than the witcher had displayed earlier. 

“I’m sorry I was rude,” Jaskier blurted out. “In the barn, I mean- I’m sorry. It was a prick move,” he babbled on when the witcher said nothing. They weren’t the apologizing type, they shoved around and joked, Jaskier complained up a hurricane when they traveled this far in the winter. But the witcher hardly snapped at the bard like that, and the ever longing, desperately cruel part of Jaskier begged for a scrap of kindness. 

“Hm,” Geralt said, noncommittal as always. Jaskier bristled despite himself. The witcher’s resignation was no stranger to Jaskier. The bard let an impatient noise escape him, half bewildered at his own gall for continuing to berate his imposing companion. The witcher sighed and looked up from his blades. 

“We’re both tired,” he said curtly, and Jaskier tried not to deflate a little. 

“Well it’s going to be a very lumpy night,” he remarked lightly, prodding one of the lumps in the mattress. Geralt made no reply, only began peeling off his leathers. Jaskier returned to his own clothes, shivering as more layers were shucked off. By the time he was in his bag to find a somewhat clean wool shirt, his fingers were shaking. 

“Damnable cold,” he muttered as he pulled the lacing at the neckline as tight as possible. “I can’t believe places that get this godsdamn freezing don’t put some kind of warmth in their rooms.” Geralt grunted. He was about as useful to whinge to as a doorknob- Jaskier doubted the cold dared to sink too far into the witcher’s thick hide. 

“It wasn’t always this cold here,” Geralt said shortly. Jaskier looked over to his companion, surprised he’d said anything. 

“Oh,” the bard mumbled, coming up empty with anything clever to carry an exchange. Geralt grunted back and stood, as if to make his way to the bed, but caught his reflection in the glass on the opposite wall and stalked over to the small pitcher of wash water on a small shelf. He peered at his reflection, and Jaskier knew he was doing the thing where he observed himself- usually his hair, the most wrecked part of his head- without ever looking at his own face. It was unbelievably odd and the bard had no idea how one avoided looking at himself while facing his own image. Geralt dragged a hand through his hair and Jaskier cringed as knots caught around the witcher’s thick hand. 

“Geralt-” he started, “Here, I have a comb.” He rummaged in his bag, producing a thick wooden comb, study enough- he hoped- to attempt taming the witcher’s mess of hair. Jaskier knew better than to ask Geralt to comb his hair. He didn’t need an even grumpier witcher sleeping next to him. But the bard couldn't bear, in his cold exhaustiveness, to tear his eyes away from the witcher as he battled with his hair. It was the color of slush right now, the same bracky gray hues as the pitiful snow outside, but Jaskier knew it could be as beautiful as fresh, sparkling white snowfall. 

“Can we please find some baths tomorrow?” Jaskier asked. Geralt paused, the comb aloft, and looked almost grateful as he nodded sharply in agreement. Jaskier melted into the craggy mattress with a grateful groan, hardly minding the shitty room he was currently in, in favor of dreaming of a deliciously  _ hot _ bath the next day. 

Jaskier nearly lulled himself to sleep drooling of hot water and slathering on some of his ache-melting salve that was tucked at the bottom of his bag when Geralt finally dropped the comb down and heaved himself onto the bed. 

“Sleep well, mine broody beast-slayer,” Jaskier drawls from the lump he’s cocooned himself in. Geralt huffs softly, nudging the dozing bard a little further to the side before kicking his legs under the corner of the quilt Jaskier hadn't commandeered. 

“Good night Jaskier,” Geralt replied quietly, once the bard's breathing had slowed into steady puffs. 

“Ge- _ ralt _ !” Jaskier exclaimed, prodding the sleeping witcher’s shoulder. The bard had awoken to find Geralt curved around him, as if the witcher had made his sleeping body a wall between Jaskier and the rest of the room. With great delicacy, he had managed to shimmy around Geralt and worm into the previous days layers. 

“Come  _ on _ you great snoozing oaf, you promised baths today!” he pronounced cheerily, giving the witcher’s shoulder a slug. The sleeping man grunted, and shifted onto his back. His sharp eyes blinked open, drowsily drinking in some of the crisp winter sunlight the small window was casting over his face. He’d looked rather ethereal there, with his roughly handsome features, the stern expression slightly relaxed in his slumber, the icy sunshine illuminating his pale hair and the crags of his face. If the prospect of a bath wasn’t as pressing as bread in one's pants, Jaskier might have indulged himself in sketching the scene out. But a bath was in fact the most shining priority, and for that the grouchy witcher had to be  _ awake _ . Jaskier shook his companions shoulder. 

“Wake  _ up _ , Geralt,  _ bath _ !” he piped. The witcher stirred. 

“I heard you the first time,” Geralt growled, knocking Jaskiers hand away as he sat up. A very wolfish yawn swallowed his face, and he scrubbed a hand across his eyes. 

“Baths?” Jaskier asked, dripping with eagerness. Geralt grunted affirmative. 

“Food first,” he added. 

Jaskier inhaled his porridge, not even taking the time to complain of its texture and the lack of a spiced sugar option. He even snagged a dried berry off Geralt’s bowl, odd, as he was usually piling more food onto the witcher, who hardly had enough to feel actually full. The witcher batted Jaskier away like a pesky kitten but the bard was persistent. Finally, Jaskier groaned, after an eternity, Geralt swallowed the last of his breakfast. Jaskier was at his feet in a second, bounding over to the pretty barmaid to pepper her with bathhouse queries. Not long after the bard bobbed through the filling tavern to Geralt with their directions. There was a private hot spring bathhouse in town, because for once, the gods were pitiful. Jaskier did all the talking, as always, on their way there and when they got to the admittance desk. However, before he could badger the young worker, Geralt spoke. 

“Private room, two baths,” he said quietly, sliding two silvers onto the desk. The worker faked a bright grin and swapped a room card for the coins. Geralt elbowed Jaskier along before the bard could open his mouth. Quietly, Jaskier’s heart was singing. Of course, Geralt hated public baths, but he rarely payed for a solitude room. And it was  _ nice _ , Jasker marvled, as they entered. Geralt heaved himself onto a stool and set at his boots, as Jaskier drank in the warmth of the room. It was a little bigger than the room back at the lodging house, but the pool was a beautifully sized spring, the floorboards dipping into the smoothed stone pool at the center of the room. There were three bowls of lovely smelling soaps next to the bath. As Jaskier’s gaze traveled back around, he found that Geralt had very much gotten ahead of him. The witcher was in nothing but a towel, the generic bathhouse ones that were always much too small for his broad frame. His head was bent over a small bottle, hair obscuring his profile as he squinted at the label. 

“What’s that?” Jaskier asked casually, tugging off his shirt. Geralt tucked the bottle away quickly as the bard approached. 

“Nothing,” he muttered, and stepped past Jaskier towards the bath, giving him an unneeded bearth. Jaskier paused, annoyance bubbling in his gut once more. 

“Geralt why don’t you touch me?” he asked quietly. The room stilled, and Jaskier could feel the witcher’s eyes on him. 

“Jaskier… we only have the room for so long.” 

Jaskier rolled his eyes and retrieved his salve before finishing disrobing. The witcher made a soft, throaty sound as he sunk into the water, and Jaskier’s ears warmed, the noise prodding his stomach. He shook himself off and joined the basking witcher in the spring. The water was blessedly hot, almost dizzyingly so, and the euphoric haze only deepened as Geralt scooped some of the washing liquid up and dug it into his hair. After watching the witcher messily slop about with the fragrant soap, Jaskier intervened. 

“Damnit, Geralt, let me,” he huffed, exasperated melding with affection for the witcher’s reliable incompetence with his own grooming. “For a man who treasures bathing so much, you’d think you would know how to clean your hair,” Jaskier said fondly, settling on the stone step next to Geralt. He slathered some of the soap in his finger tips before reaching up to bury his hands in Geralt’s hair. Despite himself, Geralt melted into the touch. It had been a while since they’d had a bath so good and Geralt had relaxed enough to allow the bard to bath him. It was  _ wonderful _ , Jaskier’s strong musicians fingers digging gently into Geralt’s scalp, swishing his hair until the grime melted away and the pure white shone again. Jaskier was practically cooing as he carefully combed his fingers through the length of Geralt's hair. 

“It’s a miracle your hair stays so  _ healthy _ ,” he was saying, twisting a conditioning liquid into his witcher’s hair. Geralt only  _ hmm _ -ed, not trusting his mouth to open and word to distract him from monitoring his own body. Jaskier’s scent shone through the coying perfumes, relaxed and fond. An unbidden image of Geralt scooping the bard onto his lap, sliding citrus-soap slippery fingers down the wet down of Jaskier chest, tasting the warm skin- Geralt ground his teeth, and Jaskier’s hands stilled. 

“Sorry, did I catch a knot?” Jaskier asked, knowing full well his fingers had caught on nothing. 

“No…” Geralt said softly. “Would you- do you-” he stumbled. With grunt he just collected some soap, jerking his cupped hands to Jaskier’s mostly dry head. 

“Oh! Yes, please,” the bard replied with a sweet grin. Geralt was grateful for the bard turning to wet his hair, because the wave of buttery excitement crashed off of Jaskier.  _ He’s excited? _ Geralt though tentatively. He buries the notion and tucks his hands into Jaskier’s hair. The bard cooes like a flirty lady who’s found something to be enjoyable. He is a bit like a noble lady, Geralt thinks, he’s sweet, well clothed, and he savors the small sweet luxuries, delighting in sweetness and kindness at each odd corner. Gerlat realizes he’s humming, a low noise close to a purr in response to Jaskier’s scent that’s overwhelming him. 

“Copper for your thoughts?” Jaskier says playfully and Geralt looks down at his bard, half floating in the water, head cupped in the witcher’s hands. His eyes are slitted, he’s warm and comfortable for the first time in weeks. 

“Your scent-” Geralt exhales, thinking little before the words slide off his lips to drift in the humid air. Jaskier’s lips twist into a mischievous smile. 

“Geralt, are you saying I  _ smell _ ? I’m in a  _ bath _ !” he teased, leaning into the witcher’s touch. Geralt grunted. 

“No,” he huffed. But Jaskier was intrigued. He rolled over, letting his knees brush the bottom of the pool to keep his head afloat as he peered at Geralt. 

“What do I smell like?” he asked, catching his bottom lip on his teeth. Geralt exercised brillant self control while looking back at the bright eyed bard, who was blinking water from his dripping hair out of those beautiful eyes. Geralt cleared his throat, settling back against the stone wall. 

“Right now, lemongrass and honey butter, because you’re relaxed,” he explained, eyes darting to the bards shoulders. The droplets of water which clung to them would have been so easy to brush away, or kiss- 

“What else do I smell like?” Jaskier inquired, creeping closer to the witcher. Geralt swallowed. 

“Bitter citrus when you’re afraid. Chili and smoke when you get angry. Sometimes it gets so thick I taste it,” he said, voice lowering at the last sentence. The bard was even closer now. Close enough for Geralt to kiss him. 

“Where?” Jaskier whispered, eyes locked on the witcher. “Where do you taste it?” he asked, lifting a hand to the witcher’s throat. Geralt leaned forward a tiny bit, exposing more of the column of his throat. 

“Here,” he murmured, a finger brushing the middle of his neck. “At the back of my mouth.” 

“Geralt,” Jaskier exhaled, voice hitching. They where so close now Geralt could practically taste the water clinging to Jakier. 

“Jask…” Geralt breathed, a careful hand hovering at the bards' side. 

“Geralt, I want-” Jaskier began, strangling on his own word. “Geralt, sweet… will you kiss me?” Geralt’s lungs went empty. He cupped Jaskier by the back of the neck, and the bard slid into his lap, water sloshing around their thighs as they brushed. 

“Yes,” Geralt said against the bard's mouth, and kissed him, a kiss more bone melting than the water. Jaskier groaned, a beautiful noise Geralt wanted to hear forever. He growled softly against the bard’s lips, hand curving on his bard’s hip, tugging him tighter into their awkward embrace. Jaskier kissed him this time, ducking his mouth onto Geralt’s, slow, delicious swipes, nudging the witcher’s mouth apart, caressing the warm, sweet skin at the start of the witcher’s lips. 

“Jaskier,” the witcher growled, his grip at the bard’s hip tightening. Jaskier purred at the contact, wiggling happily under the strong grasp, not wanting to escape. “Little bard…” Geralt crooned, swiping his tongue at the curve of the bard’s jaw. 

“I deeply protest at being called  _ little _ ,” Jaskier gasped out. The witcher made a noise like a chuckle, and scraped his teeth softly against the bard’s neck. Jaskier went tense like a bowstring at that. Geralt froze, pulling his lips away from the bard’s soft neck. 

“Jaskier? Did I hurt you?” he asked worriedly, scanning the bard’s face. But he was met with a crushing wave of the scent of sweet cinnamon. Jaskier’s eyes flitted open- he’d rolled his head back and bitten his lip to keep from making any embarrassing noises. 

“Hm.” 

“Geralt,  _ ah _ ! Why are you- stop,” Jaskier pants, swatting the witcher’s hands. Geralt stills, releasing the bard, eyes cautious. Jaskier fiddles with his fingers. “Geralt, I’m not a whore.” Geralt blinks, dumbfound, the growls. 

“What the fuck makes you think you are?” he snarled.  _ If someone had said something- gotten under the bard’s skin- oh, Geralt would skin them.  _ The bard’s eyes where solem when they met. 

“Geralt… as much as I would like to kiss you, I am not replaceable. I mean… I  _ am _ , but that’s not what I meant. I just want to tell you now that I’m not a toy. I have feelings, Geralt and I am not going to leave the second you’re tired of me. I guess I’m just asking you to be kind with me.” Geralt sat in shock. 

“Jaskier,” he managed thickly, “Is that what you think of me? I wouldn't…” Jaskier laughed, but it was humorless. 

“No, Geralt, you’re tired and bored. I understand. I think I’m done with my bath.” And with that he stood to crawl out of the pool. Geralt grabbed his wrist. 

“No,” the witcher said, tone etched with pleading. “Jaskier, please. I do not think of you like that. I am not  _ bored _ . I am many things but I would not keep you if my intentions were to hurt or  _ use _ you.” When Jaskier was quiet he continued. “I understand if you don’t want me. You’ve had your taste of witcher.” Jaskier’s face dropped into a frown and the spell of consideration shattered. 

“Godsdamnit Geralt, I  _ like you _ , you great  _ arse _ !” he snapped, lurching out of the water. He turned his back to Geralt, quickly wrapping a towel about his waist. His hands were shaky as he stuffed his bag back together. 

“Jaskier,” Geralt murmured, emerging from the pool behind the bard. “Jask, look at me.” The bard met his companions eyes. Geralt’s heart slammed as a tear welling in his bard’s eye glimmer. They collided- Jaskier’s kisses flooded Geralt’s mouth with salt, his fingers twining in Geralt’s hair, pulling his head closer. Geralt groaned, and pushed his wet body into Jaskier. The bard hit the wall and gasped into the witcher’s mouth, which he took the opportunity to fasten his mouth to the bard’s throat. Jaksier let out an honest moan when Geralt’s teeth nipped the soft crook of his neck. The bard bucked his hips, towel losing between their twisting bodies. 

“Ugh,  _ fuck _ , Geralt!” he hissed, dragging his hands across the delicious planes of the witcher’s chest. The witcher hummed smugly at the bard’s reactions. “Uh, didn’t know you fancied men this much,” Jaskier teased in between pants. 

“Hmmm,” the witcher purred in the bard’s ear. “No, just loud mouth bard brats.” Jaskier wriggled under the taunt, his cock aching. Geralt’s hand drags to the lip of the towel, where the two flimsy layers are draped over Jaskier’s cock. “You’re greedy,” Geralt remarks, lightly pressing at the seam with the heel of his hand. Jaskier groans and arches into the touch, but Geralt pulls off. 

“I want to hold you in the bath,” he said plainly and Jaskier swallows, sure he looks a mess. Geralt scoops Jaskier up, the bard exclaiming and wiggling, then they’re both in the shock of warm water and Jaskier is cuddled up on Geralt, purring and petting at his wolf’s chest. Geralt grabs Jaskier, none too gently, and settles him on his lap. Jaskier, because he is the devil, rolls his plush ass down on Geralt’s cock, swollen and leaky in the water. With no warning, Jaskier has his hands around Geralt’s cock, stroking him. The witcher bites down a hiss, hips quivering under the bard’s strong hands. No one had touched him with such gleeful exploration in a while, not while also being kind. The fact that the beautiful man stroking his cock doesn't see him as an oddity or plaything feels almost as good. 

“Geralt, Geralt,” the bard whines, “I want to taste.” He’s breathless, bright eyes shiny, bottom lip slick from kisses. Geralt boosts himself onto the crag outside the water, and Jaskier tucks himself in the cage of Geralt’s legs. As that head of damp waves bends over Geralt’s cock he marvels at his luck. Geralt is grateful in a different way as the bard's mouth moves against hot skin. Jaskier is lapping Geralt down like a sugar lump. He takes as much as he can and Geralt thinks he's going to come right there when the bard gags. 

“Fuck, Jaskier,” Geralt rasps, digging his hands into the bard’s hair. The bard hummed happily on Geralt’s dick, sending delicious vibrations up his spine. 

“ _ Fuck _ , Jask, you’ve got to stop-” Geralt groans and the bard pulls off his cock with a slick  _ pop _ . His eyes are so innocent when they meet Geralt that he thanks being a witcher for his self control. Or, what’s left of it in Jaskier slender fingers and beautiful mouth. “Not yet,” he growled, pulling Jaskier’s head up by his hair. The breathy gasp that slips from the bard as their lips meet makes Geralt hold back. Jaskier’s face is dazed with pleasure, and Geralt tries something. He softly tugs at the bard’s hair. Another moan slides out. 

“Gods, Geralt, you’re like  _ marble _ , how long has it been?” Jaskier gaspes out, half joking as he strokes the wet cock. Geralt snarls, dragging his hands down Jaskier’s chest, pinching a nipple. The bard yelps, then snickers mischievously, grinding on the witcher. The witcher growls, grabbing Jaskier’s cock and his in one hand. The bard’s chuckles melted quickly into short gasps. Jaskier melted into the witcher’s kisses, Geralt’s warm lips and strong hands caressing the bard, who squirmed in his lap. 

“You’re so  _ sweet _ ,” Geralt murmured in Jaskier’s ear, voice thick and raspy. “Like fresh spiced cider.” The witcher nuzzled the bard’s neck, teasing the tip of his tongue over the taunt skin over Jaskier’s collarbone. Jaskier mumbled something, nonsensical and slurred. Geralt made a bemused  _ hm _ , twisting the hand he had wrapped around their cocks. The bard hissed, blunt nails pinching the witcher’s shoulder. 

“ _ Shit _ , Geralt,” he grunted, hips jerking feebly, splashing the warm water onto the witcher’s chest. Geralt only hummed, free hand lazily dragging up and down Jaskier’s side. His pale honey skin was cooling as the water clinging to him evaporated, goose-flesh springing up across his soft body as the witcher traced lines across the bard’s chest with callused fingers. 

“The water is cooling,” Geralt remarked, one hand toying with Jaskier’s cockhead, the other stroking his jawline. 

“Mhm-phm,” Jaskier mumbled, head still tipped back, eyes slitted with pleasure. Slowly he rolled up straight, relaxing his clutch on Geralt’s shoulders. The witcher relaxed his vise on the bard’s cock, albeit regretfully. 

“Geralt,” Jaskier said softly, “I am not going to vanish. And, as much as I am enjoying myself, we’re going to get charged for staying too long.” Geralt grunted, slipping back into his stoic witcher persona so quick Jaskier’s heart twinged. They crawled out of the bath, Jaskier focusing on managing his twitching cock back into his pants. It was a fuzzy, dreamlike state, he thought, as they dressed, Jaskier sneaking peeks at the witcher’s rolling muscles as he turned his shirt right. They were dressed, Jaskier’s stomach kicking like a folk dancer, nerves alight with every movement of Geralt’s strong body and now bright hair. The witcher paused at the door, Jaskier behind him. He turned, cupping Jaskier’s face in both his hands, and pressed a kiss onto the bard’s mouth. When the witcher pulled away, Jaskier’s knees were weak. 

“Geralt,” he breathed, “You cannot do such things to me when I have just resolved to get us out of this room.” The witcher grunted, but his eyes were kind as he opened the door for Jaskier. 

The walk back to their room was as fast as Jaskier could manage to speed walk, but the silence was suffocating. The bard was uncharacteristically quiet until they had safely reached their room. To Jaskier’s surprise, Geralt grabbed him the second the lock slid into place, pulling the bard into an embrace. 

“Shush,” Geralt murmured into the bard’s ear before gracing his lips with another delicious kiss. Jaskier laughed breathlessly into the witcher’s lips as they kissed, tucking his hands under Geralt’s jacket. 

“But I haven’t said anything, sweet witcher,” he cooed, a sly hand sneaking under the waistband of the witcher’s pants. Geralt hummed, low at the back of his throat, and heat pooled between Jaskier’s legs. Geralt pressed their lips back together, spinning the bard around so his back was facing the wall, and the witcher was quick to press Jaskier up against the wood wall. Jaskier made a noise of pleased surprise that was quickly overwhelmed by a sharp gasp. Geralt had scraped his teeth over a juncture under the bard’s jaw, eliciting an embarrassing whine from the man. Geralt hummed playfully, the vibration making Jaskier shiver. 

“Bed,” Jaskier managed, as sternly as he could with the witcher sucking on his neck like a starved man. 

“You are still so…  _ bossy _ ,” Geralt remarked, nipping sharply at the bard’s vulnerable throat. Jaskier huffed indignetally and the witcher exhaled his witcher not-laugh. The bard shivered again, but not from the cold. 

“Still cold? So fragile…” Geralt murmured, a heavy hand grabbing at the bard’s body. Jaskier’s head careened from the treatment. He had never thought being manhandled by the witcher would have such an influence on his cock. Geralt, however, gave Jaskier no time to stew on his lewd thoughts. The witcher pushed Jaskier onto the bed, none too gently. Jaskier gave a little huff as he landed on the mattress, then Geralt was on top of him, caging him in columns of leather-clad muscle. Strong swordsman hands were pulling up Jaskier’s shirt- he had not even remembered losing his jacket- and the witcher’s talented mouth was lavishing down Jaskier’s lower stomach. Jaskier choked on a loud moan when Geralt bit the jut of his hip, the tender skin singing with excitement. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he babbled as Geralt hooked his fingers on the waistband of his pants. The witcher hesitated, glancing up at the bard. His head was thrown into the crumpled pillows, lips swollen from biting, not having had time to recover from Geralt's cock between them, his soft brown hair drying in waves across the pillow. He was fucking  _ beautiful _ . Geralt’s cock twitched insistently in his pants, but he ignored it, pulling down the bard’s instead. Jaskier’s cock was at attention, swollen a lush, dusty pink, a perfect drop of precome at his tip. 

“Oh,  _ fuck _ !” Jaskier cried, digging his hands into Geralt’s hair as the witcher lapped at his cock. “Shit, fuck-” he gasped, shoving his knuckles in his mouth to muffle himself, but Gerlt was only spurrned on, lavishing the dripping cockhead before him, licking up the side, sucking it into his mouth like Jaskier was made of decadant maple candy. Jaskier whined when the witcher pulled off after just a minute, his arms scrambling to grab at Geralt, missing the witcher’s hot mouth. 

“Settled down,” Geralt murmured, sitting upright to pull his shirt off. He hovered over Jaskier for a moment, drinking in the already fucked-in bard. Jaskier gazed back with dumb wonder, dazed from the cocksucking and the beautiful man over him. The spell was broken when Geralt rolled off him and off the bed.

“Geralt, where are you-” he began to whine, but the witcher waved him down. 

“Hush, little bard. Oil,” Geralt said soothingly and Jaskier melted at the way the witcher swished the word in his mouth, the exilitaring prospects behind its uses. Then the witcher was back on top of him, kissing his neck. “What would you like?” he asked in Jaksier’s ear. The bard swallowed, reaching for his voice. 

“Anything, gods, Geralt, any-” 

“Not good enough,” Geralt interrupted, eyes like embers. 

“Ugh, fuck, I don’t know,” the bard whined, arching up into the witcher. “How do you want me?” he asked, his voice mock sultry but his hands pawing at Geralt’s cock, now only hidden by smallclothes. The witcher growled at his words, and the bard felt the cock under his hand twitch. 

“On you back, with your legs up. I want to see you,” he whispered, mouthing at the bard’s throat. Jaskier bit down a moan. 

“I love a man who knows what he wants,” he gasped back, pulling his legs up to his body, exposing the entirety of his stiff cock as well as his hole, a pink pucker the same shade of pink as his cockhead. Geralt made a noise like a muffled groan and buried his face between the bard’s legs, drinking in his scent. 

“I don't think-  _ nahguh _ !” Jaskier gasped, Geralt’s tongue swiping across his hole. “Oh, fuck, I don’t think anyone has every had me like this,” he managed, panting around the words as Geralt lapped at his core. 

“Good,” the witcher snarled against his skin and Jaskier melted into the mattress, cock an angry exclamation point, pleading for attention. He wiggled on Geralt’s mouth, delighted to find it felt like exploding stars in his stomach. 

“Be good,” Geralt ordered, slathering his fingers with oil. He dragged the oiled fingers over Jaskier’s cock before reaching his hole. He pressed ever so carefully with the side pad of a finger, mindful of his nails despite them being short- Jaskier berated him to keep his hands clean. Jaskier took Geralt’s finger much faster than he thought the bard’s body would allow. 

“I’m relaxed,” Jaskier explained, embarrassment drenching his face as the witcher was easily able to crook his finger inside the bard. Geralt hummed, secretly pleased. “Geralt,  _ please _ , please, it  _ hurts _ ,” he whined, cock twitching. Geralt gave the head a soft tug with his free hand and the bard cried, jutting into him. 

“Be  _ still _ ,” Geralt snapped, pushing Jaskier’s hips down, slathering more oil on his fingers before nudging a second finger inside the bard. The movement of his fingers was quicker now, a more efficient tapering, widening and twisting of his fingers to manipulate the muscles. 

“Please, another,” Jaskier begged, gritting his teeth to keep his hips still. Geralt complied, and Jaskier cried at the burn, despite the oil Geralt had added. The witcher slowed, not moving the fingers inside the bard. 

“No, no don’t stop,” Jaskier babbled, “It’s good, so good, please.”

“You take so well,” Geralt said quietly, beginning to twist his fingers. Jaskier giggled through his bitten lip, the bottom lip swollen fat from being pinned under his teeth to keep quiet. 

“Geralt, get that cock in me or so help me gods, I will-” The witcher was over Jaskier in a second, hand not fucking him an inch from his throat. “Gah.” 

“Hm,” the witcher said, pleased. Without warning he fucked into Jaskier, twisting his fingers deep into the bard. Jaskier cried out, a cry cut off by Geralt’s hand over his mouth. “As sweet as your noises are, little bard, it would not be due for us to be kicked out.” The bard mumbled, conceding. The witcher’s hands traveled back down between the bard’s soft legs, pushing them apart further. Geralt withdrew his fingers and Jaskier huffed at the missing friction. Admiring the bard’s fluttering hole, Geralt was generous with oil, coating his cock, then Jaskier’s hole, then wiping the rest on the bard’s cock with a few strokes. 

“Geralt-” Jaskier whimpered, the name holding both warning and pleading. 

“I know,” the witcher soothed, pressing his cock up to the bard’s hole. Jaskier’s body was so soft and welcoming, blooming around him as he nudged his cock inside. Halfway down his shaft, Jaskier was panting, hands scrambling on the bedcovers. 

“Jask…” Geralt murmured as he bottomed out, pressing their bodies flush. Jaskier grabbed Geralt in a sloppy kiss, one that melted into wanton moans as the witcher slowly moved his hips. 

“Fuuuuccck,” Jaskier groaned, mouthing at Geralt’s neck, sucking a untidy mark onto the witcher. Geralt retaliated in like, biting the bard’s neck. The slice of pain exploded into pure pleasure as the witcher soothed the mark with broad, languid licks. 

“Well, White Wolf, you certainly fuck with some animalistic traits,” Jaskier purred. The witcher growled and pinched the sensitive nub of Jaskier’s nipple. 

“Hm. Hardly close to what a witcher fucking like an animal looks like,” Geralt said, and jerked his hips, picking up speed on fucking into the bard. “Not. Even. Close,” he repeated, puncturing each word with a hard thrust. All blood not occupied in Jaskiers nether careened to his face, his wolf’s silky words bringing a nearly painful flush to the bard’s face. Geralt sucked in intoxicating hot air through his teeth, around the bard’s throat. The needy cinnamon scent pouring off the bard was choking, lodging itself in the back of Geralt’s throat, spurring him to press their bodies closer, to push further into the bard’s vice-like body. A sharp cry dragged itself from Jaskier’s mouth, and the witcher’s hand clapped over those swollen lips. Jaskier huffed, breathless and annoyed and Geralts interrupted silencing. The witcher dipped his head, looking directly down into Jaskier’s face. 

“If I took you for a complete fool, it would look like you’re trying to get us kicked out,” Geralt growled in his bards ear, chasing the low accusation with a long thrust. Jaskier- blood hot from his cheeks to the tips of his ears now- whined under the witchers heavy hand. 

“M’no- ah!” Jaskier murmured as Geralt slipped two fingers off the bards mouth. “ _ Fuck _ . I’m, ugh, not.”

“Not what?” the witcher growled, pressing his strong hips into Jaskier’s battered ass. 

“M’not trying to get us ki-kicked out,” the bard hissed, rutting into Geralt's stomach. “Why the  _ hell _ would I do that?” The witcher hummed, a throaty growl as the tip of his cock pressed against a catch in Jaskier. Geralt caught the sob his bard made, trapping the noise behind the vise of his hand. 

“Maybe,” Geralt said, breath hot and hushed in Jaskier’s ear. “Maybe a small part of you would give up this shitty mattress if it meant the woods would hide the screams you want to make.” Jaskier shuddered as the witcher's taunt washed over him.

“Oh,  _ fuck _ .” The witcher grinned, a bloodthirsty, hauntingly beautiful thing, his fierce eyes and slightly-too-pointed teeth only making Jaskier’s sad cock ache harder. 

“Geralt,” Jaskier whined, a quavering warning, his blunt fingernails scrabbling for purchase across the witcher’s taunt shoulders. Geralt wordlessly leaned into the bard, fucking him with thick, lavish strokes. The bard hissed, thighs tensing in warning- then he was fluttering, a choking gasp from his mouth and a spasm of muscles on the cock inside him. Geralt groaned, holding the gasping bard into the mattress, smearing the cooling come across their bodies. Jaskier hiccuped, his shivers nearly having subsided when the witcher buried his head in the crook of Jaskier’s neck. The bard tangled warm fingers in the witchers soft hair, petting it soothingly as the witcher came. 

“Fuck,” Geralt spits out, spent but still tucked into the bards throat. Jaskier managed a giggle. 

**Author's Note:**

> holy fuck lol. this was meant to be a short smutty fic but Im bad a short fics!!! In my jask kinnie feels lol


End file.
